Every Month
by TheChasm
Summary: She was useless, a useless mother who couldn't help her son. / The full moon is close to rising. Hope Lupin cannot do anything for her baby, and it hurts. One-shot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: I don't know if this is amazing or rubbish. I wrote it in two days. For the record, I never realised how much fun Hope Lupin was before! It was definitely an interesting piece to write, even if I had about five hundred different prompts to incorporate, but I hope you'll enjoy it!**

**Written for:**

**The "So you think you know your character" competition - What sort of relationship do you have with your family?**

**The Book Thief Challenge - use the quote "He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It's his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry." **

**The Tien Len Competition, round one - Hope Lupin, sunshine, "Have I told you lately you are hopelessly impossible?", "One is loved because one is loved. No reason for loving." - Paul Coelho, word count 1000-1500**

**The Acrostic-y Challenge of Chapter Titles Competition, letter E - dialogue "Every time I look over there, I want to cry"**

**The word count without the author's note is 1500.**

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**Every Month**

Even though the late-afternoon sky still gleamed with pale golden sunshine, the temperature was falling fast. Hope Lupin shivered as she turned away from the window, forcing her fingers to continue with their task of methodically chopping vegetables.

On the couch in the next room, her six-year-old son Remus slept fitfully. In front of her, a saucepan full of boiling water bubbled and hissed. To her side, the clock ticked steadily. All around her was the thick, pervading smell of fear.

Lyall wasn't home yet. Of course he wasn't home yet, it was only four o'clock, but she found herself irrationally angry with him. There were plenty of reasons why she could be _rationally_ angry with him, but she decided not to focus on that. If she blamed her husband for their misfortunes, the family would fall apart, and Remus needed both his parents to survive.

The thought seemed stark and cold in the warmth of the kitchen. When their children were six, most parents worried about breaking the habit of thumb-sucking, teaching them how to read and making sure they could tie their own shoelaces. Every month, Hope's son came close to death.

Wringing her hands – a nervous tick she had never been able to stop – Hope walked into the living room, staring down at Remus as he slept. His forehead was feverishly warm and his cheeks were flushed, so she fetched a cloth and a bowl of water and began to cool his face. He didn't wake up.

After a few minutes, however, his eyes flickered open once. They were beautiful eyes – a warm golden-brown colour, and ridiculously large in Remus's thin face. And right now, they were far, far too bright.

Remus stared at her for a moment without any recognition before closing his eyes again. The panic rose in Hope's throat. A fever was common close to the transformation, but never this high. What if this time the transformation would be worse than usual? What if her brave little boy didn't make it this month?

She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Remus was a survivor; she knew that. She should not be worrying. But he stepped on her heart, this boy. Every time. He made her cry. And wasn't that funny, when children were supposed to bring countless joy to their parents' life?

She heard the front door opening and leapt up, running down the tiny hallway and jumping into Lyall's arms, kissing him like a love-struck teenager. "I thought – I thought you'd be late," she said breathlessly, pulling away.

Lyall smiled dryly. "I thought that too. I'm sorry, Hope, I hurried as much as I could… Merlin's beard, what's happened to him?"

They'd reached the living room by now, and as soon as Lyall took in Remus's white face and twitching body his whole demeanour changed. He dropped to his knees in front of his son, feeling his forehead. From his expression, Hope gathered that her ministrations with the cloth had not done much.

"The fever's much worse than usual," she explained. "You know normally I give Remus a book or something to occupy him during the afternoon – but today he's just slept the whole time, restlessly. I didn't – there wasn't much I could do…" She was useless, a useless mother who couldn't help her son. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing she was a witch.

Lyall sighed. "We're all out of Fever-Reducing Potion, and we don't have enough money for another bottle," he said bluntly. "There's nothing I can do, either. Moonrise will be in another fifteen minutes or so."

Hope appreciated his honesty; her own father had never seen fit to tell her mother the truth about the household accounts, and so Penelope Howell had very nearly bankrupted them before Hope herself had told her mother how extravagant she was being. Lyall always told her whether they could afford something or not. Unlike her parents, though, they were not debating bottles of champagne and lace-trimmed skirts but basic medicines for their sick son.

Hope tried not to complain, but she hated poverty. It was synonymous with helplessness.

Ten minutes before moonrise, Lyall unwound Remus's tattered robes and hoisted the shivering boy into his arms. Hope stood to kiss the top of her baby's head, and then watched Lyall unlock the basement door and disappear down the stairs.

When he came back up, arms empty, his face was drawn. "Remus woke up," he reported as he began to work the charms on the door that would hold the wolf in. "He said it would be a bad transformation. He could feel it."

Hope frowned. "Do you think that was why his fever was so high?"

"I wish I knew," Lyall sighed, pausing his muttered incantations for the moment. "I don't know if he'll survive this, Hope."

Hope flinched. She had worried about that herself, but hearing it from Lyall's mouth made it different. It made the possibility real. It also solidified the idea she had in mind, and so before Lyall could continue with his charms she said, "Don't muffle the sound this month."

Lyall stared at her as if she had lost her mind. "What?"

"You heard me." Hope hadn't even realised she was fiddling with her hair; she pulled her fingers free of the blonde tangles. "I want to know what he goes through. It's the least I can do."

"You don't want to hear it, Hope." Lyall was wearing the same expression he had worn when Hope had asked, at the hospital a year and a half ago, _But they can cure him, can't they?_

"I do," Hope insisted. "Please. I have to know."

Lyall sighed. "Have I told you lately that you are hopelessly impossible?"

Hope took this as a 'yes' and squeezed his hand. "Probably not."

The minutes before moonrise were painfully long. Hope wandered over to the window and stared out at the deep purple sky. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing up; somehow the moment before it happened she knew –

A bloodcurdling scream shook the floor. Hope spun around wildly, her mind freezing. That _couldn't_ be Remus, it _couldn't_ be her baby, he _couldn't_ be screaming and screaming like that. It wasn't possible, and yet it was happening. Right now.

The screams were wild and mad and desperate, and it _couldn't _be Remus because Remus never screamed, never so much as whimpered in complaint. But here he was – she could recognise his voice, distorted as it was – and he needed her, he needed his mother to heal him –

She only realised that she was pounding at the wooden door with her fists when Lyall wrapped his arms around her and dragged her away. "Hope, stop!"

She kicked and fought with all the ferocity of a tiger whose cubs were in danger. "Let me go! He needs me!"

Lyall hissed in frustration, muttered a charm. Immediately a cool, calming feeling spread through Hope's body; she relaxed and Lyall let go of her. The panic was still there, but muffled.

Lyall shook his head. "I _told_ you not to listen."

She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth. "I needed to know." Her voice was hoarse, just like Remus's was every month, and why had she never considered that it was because he spent his time screaming in agony?

The screams had mutated, become strangled howls. Her baby was lost to the monster now.

Lyall waved his wand at the door and the sounds ceased. Hope wanted to protest, but all she felt was deep-seated relief. She couldn't listen to that all night, she knew that now. It would drive her insane.

They never ate dinner on the night of a full moon. The first month, Hope had made the mistake of cooking it, and they had both thrown up after a few mouthfuls. Even the smell of her soup for tomorrow was making her nauseous. So they simply sat on the couch and stared at the wall. Lyall put his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. She wanted to talk to him, maybe ask how his day had been, but Remus was _hurting._

"Every time I look over there, I want to cry," she said at last, breaking a long silence by nodding towards the basement door.

Lyall laced his fingers through hers. "Me too," he murmured. "Me too."

Wouldn't it be easier, Hope wondered, if she had never met Lyall, never had Remus? She could have stayed clear of the world of magic. Her parents might have sent her to live with her grandparents, whose house was in the centre of London. She could have become engaged to one of the rich young men in her grandparents' social circle. She would never have known pain.

But love was unconditional, really, and she had not chosen this life. It had simply happened.

Hope waited for the morning.

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**I hope you liked this piece! Please tell me what you thought in a review if you have the time :)**

**~Butterfly**


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